Trevor Hoyne

I attended the thanksgiving service for Trevor today, only finding out that he had died a few days ago. We had drifted apart when he left town for the country about 15 years ago, and yet he was one who had been incredibly important to me at one time. We went to the Anglican Franciscan monastery in Stroud, New South Wales together in search of spiritual truth and I can say that he was the first person with whom I meditated and who suggested to me that there may be an inner part of us that is beyond the ego.

Trevor was a troubled searcher after truth, a man born in London during WWII to dominant parents. His father died early and his mother overwhelmed him with suffocating love. He worked with Tom Keating (a different one!), the rogue fine art faker in his early years, and became an art restorer. He married a wonderful German woman, and they moved to Australia and he worked at the National Gallery, but he became very ill through past excesses in life (heavy drinking and smoking) and had to retire early.

Trevor's post-work years were his belated attempts to make sense of it all and he was a brave man who read much, meditated much and maintained a child-like sense of humour and love despite his sadnesses. He drifted off to Indian religion, becoming a devotee of Sai Baba - not my cup of tea but he was clearly trying to escape his straitened English roots. His daughter, Hannah, said to me today that he had not wanted to leave yet, so tonight in the meditation I asked him to accompany me and to leave in peace when the final gong sounded. I felt honoured to have him with me on this journey. Requiescat in pacem.